Semper Fi
by MacComie
Summary: Life on Chalkis IV sucks. The only thing that makes it suck less is joining a gang. Of course, you have to do some pretty crazy stuff while you're in, but that's the whole point of joining...


Semper Fi

On the backwater planet of Chalkis IV, in the city of Driftwood, a young man sat in the gutter with his hands tied behind his back, waiting for something to happen. The dusty street was relatively empty save for a few policemen, an ambulance, and the wrecked remains of a speeder. Dirt and blood which was not his own obscured his features and dark brown skin. A ragged tank top, faded cargo pants, worn boots, and a face and scalp covered with a weeks worth of stubble completed his outfit. He looked like he had been in a warzone, which was not far from the truth.

The teenager sighed. He shouldn't be in this situation. It wasn't even his idea! If the guys had never suggested pretending to be a maintenance crew to gain access to the scrap yard, they never would've accidently trashed that other speeder with a magna-crane. They were aiming for Mr. Seabrook's speeder, honest! He was the one who had given him a detention for lighting his chair on-

"Mr. Shang", a gravelly voice interrupted. Liam looked up at the speaker. He was a tall man dressed neatly in a formal black stillsuit, with his brown hair slicked back. "My name is Agent Smith. Follow me, please. I need to ask you a few questions."

"No." he snarled back. _Got to be tough. That's what the guys said._

The man's impassive eyes stared out from behind reflective beetle-black goggles, which were a necessity on a harsh, treeless world like Chalkis.

"Follow me, Mr. Shang. This won't take a minute."

Liam clamped his jaw shut, stood up, and followed Agent Smith into a small room in a nearby building. The room was evidently an office of some kind, with a desk, and old computer, and two chairs. _Be tough._ Liam reminded himself.

"Sit down, Mr. Shang." Agent Smith said. Liam sullenly did so.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"You've got nothing on me. You can't prove anything." came Liam's flat reply.

"Actually, we've got quite a lot on you Mr. Shang." said Agent Smith, and picked up a folder from the desk. He opened it, flipped past a few pages, and began to read. "William Andrew Shang, aka Liam. Age 17, height six feet six inches, weight 173 pounds. Subject has above average intelligence, and excellent physical conditioning. Shows a virulent hatred for authority, etc, etc."

Agent Smith set the file on the table. "There's much more fascinating information to read about you", he said, "but basically it all boils down to this. You are far from the average person that has the misfortune of being born on this planet. You know you are far from the average person. And you know that you could be much more then who and what you are now."

Liam shifted uncomfortably.

"But your grades are poor. Your upbringing, racial background, and general demeanor ensure that you habitually make a bad impression. The best job you can hope for is doing the same thing your father does, pushing paper, forwarding e-messages to people more important then you are. You want more then that, but you can't seem to find a way to get more in the system set up by society and government. So, perhaps subconsciously, you decided to look outside the system for that purpose, that meaning that your old life lacked."

Agent Smith paused, his eyes drawn to the tattoo on Liam's left arm.

"Due to the complete and utter mundane-ness of this planet, there is no shortage of illicit activities to occupy oneself with. Gang culture is particularly prominent on this planet. One thing lead to another, and you began associating with the Red Cobras two months ago." Smith looked back at the file.

"The gang became your life. You began skipping classes, only attending those that were taken by fellow gang members. Coming home after your father became a regular occurrence. Your unusual hours and attendance lead to frequent arguments with both of your parents. Several times, you spent the night at one of the gang member's apartments."

Liam interrupted. "How do you know all this stuff?"

Smith ignored him. "You were initiated eight days ago, and given the traditional tattoo and haircut. All that you needed to do to become a full member was to get into a fight with someone. Blood in, blood out."

Liam clenched his jaw. Agent Smith continued, apparently not noticing.

"Of course, I doubt you expected that someone to be your father. For your information, head wounds always bleed copiously. Thinking you had just committed murder, you went to the only people you had left, the Red Cobras. And now, a week later, here you are. In seven days you and your cohorts managed two robberies, six counts of vandalism, a mugging, and ten accounts of gang violence."

Agent Smith removed his goggles, folded them neatly, and placed them in his breast pocket.

"Never in my ten years on the job have I seen such a meteoric rise to infamy."

"What exactly is your job?" spat Liam.

"We'll get to that later, Mr. Shang."

Agent Smith, who had been standing for the whole time, pulled up a chair and sat down across from Liam.

"Right now, I am going to tell you why you are here. Your file fails to mention your latest charge. Do you know what that is?"

Liam resumed his vow.

"Attempted murder of a Confederate official."

"I didn't try to kill anybody!" said Liam, shooting out of his chair.

"The speeder you wrecked with the magna-crane you 'borrowed' from the nearby junkyard contained Governor Bush, who was travelling to the city hall to give a speech promoting his campaign against gangs and teenage nonconformity." Agent Smith deadpanned.

Liam paled.

"I'm sure you understand why the police are very suspicious of your involvement in today's…incident. You are currently facing anything from 20 years in prison to a death sentence, depending on the judge. The Confederacy does not take kindly to rebels."

"But I didn't shake the speeder around or anything! I just locked on, and then cut the power when I realized that Mr. Seabrook was in the speeder behind it! That's not enough to kill somebody!" cried Liam.

Agent Smith paused, then said in a low voice. "Did you know that Governor Bush wears an old-fashioned pacemaker? The kind that has a tendency to malfunction whenever near a strong magnetic field? It's why he never journeys by maglev."

Slowly, Liam sank back into his chair.

"Earlier, you asked me what my job was, Mr. Shang. My job is to help people who are 'culturally challenged'. My job is to give them an escape, a way out. This might be hard to believe, but my job is to save your life."

Liam raised his brown eyes to meet Agent Smith's blue. Smith grinned predatorily, showing emotion for the first time.

"How would you like to join the Confederate Marine Corps, Mr. Shang?"


End file.
